


10 Years From Yesterday

by burblyboy



Series: Today, Yesterday, Tomorrow [2]
Category: Teenage Bounty Hunters (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/F, Post-Canon, Stepril Endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28113534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burblyboy/pseuds/burblyboy
Summary: Some people aren't that easy to get over. April Stevens is definitely one of them.
Relationships: April Stevens & Blair Wesley, April Stevens/Sterling Wesley
Series: Today, Yesterday, Tomorrow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137479
Comments: 15
Kudos: 69





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bad idea. Posting this is stupid. I really shouldn't post this at all when there are still 10 chapters left to go of OUR FIRST CHRISTMAS (the Christmas fluff I'm collaborating with RedBeautyFTW on). I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry.
> 
> But I want to put this out there, into the world, so it won't linger among my drafts, left there to grow old and die. Even if the next chapter might not appear until 2021. Don't look so alarmed, that's just over two weeks from now... Yeah, I never thought 2020 would end either.

Sterling unlocked the door to the apartment she’d been calling home for the last eleven months and stepped through. Finding a decent place in NYC was a nightmare, so she was thankful she had this little place, even if she wished the heating worked better.

Once inside she could hear her roommate working diligently in the kitchen, preparing their dinner while singing to herself. Sterling smiled, finding comfort in this little slice of everyday domesticity, something normal among the abnormality of living in this crazy world.

“Hey, Lindsey, I’m home!” she called out before tossing her coat across the seat of the chair and started unlacing her boots. She was beyond thankful for Lindsey, roommate extraordinaire; scarily smart Lindsey Kalan, microbiologist; Linds, her most recent girlfriend. Whose voice rang out from the kitchen, calling to Sterling. 

“Hey there. How was work? Okay, I hope?” Not one to wait for an answer to simple pleasantries, Lindsey moved right on. ‘Dinner’s gonna be ready in twenty. Oh, there’s another letter from the reunion committee on your desk.”

Sterling sighed, not at all eager to face this today. The original letter was stuffed away in a desk drawer, still unopened. It’s not like she didn’t know what it would say:  _ Dear students of Willingham Academy, can you believe it’s been nearly ten years… _ Ten years. No, Sterling could not believe that.

Ten years was a lifetime ago, and all she wanted to remember from those years she had made sure to bring with her as she moved away, moved on. So what if people were trying to make a reunion happen? She’d ignored the first letter and she’d ignore this one too.

Walking through their apartment, she started shedding the layers of her worklife, until she was just Sterl again. She moved into her bedroom, grabbed the letter from the glass-topped desk and shoved it down into the drawer next to the other one. Seriously, whoever decided reunions were a thing again could  _ burn _ . “Linds, what’s for dinner?”

“Why don’t you come find out for yourself?”

She walked into the kitchen and slung an arm around Lindsey’s shoulders from behind, craning her neck to sneak a peek at the pot puttering away on the stove. The smells wafting up from the stove made her mouth water. “Whatever it is, it smells great,” Sterling said, giving Linds a grateful squeeze.

“Mushroom bourguignon.” Lindsey indicated with a wooden spoon stained a deep red by the juices. “And mashed potatoes.”

“Bourguignon? What’s that?”

“Stew” Lindsey stuck her tongue out. “With mushrooms.” 

“Thanks a lot, Martha.”

“You know I’m more partial to Rachel Ray.”

“What about Nigella?”

“Oooh, you’re right. She’s a  _ goddess _ .”

“No, you’re a goddess. Cooking for little ol’ me? I mean, what?” With a laugh, Sterling tousled Lindsey’s short black hair. She remembered when she met up with Linds for the first time after she had her long hair sheared and turned into an adorable, uneven undercut pixie style. She’d not been a fan, but now she could barely picture the woman she was holding with hair halfway down her back. What a difference only a year could make.

Sterling licked her lips before wolfing down another spoonful of the musty stew, smacking happily until she realized her plate was clear. With a dissatisfied groan, she used a piece of Lindsey’s homemade sourdough to fastidiously soak up the last drops of sauce off her plate. “Did I already say great?”

“‘Smells great.’ Those were your exact words.” Lindsey shook her head at the ridiculous pout on Sterling’s face.

“I meant divine. I could eat that every day.” Sterling leapt out of her chair and moved towards the stove. “The taste was divine. How? Seriously, how?”

Lindsey turned her head to laugh at the frustration Sterling displayed when she realized the pot was empty. “Uh, I know how to read?”

Sterling deadpanned,“Funny girl.”

“We have this newfangled thing here in the future. They’re called recipes. R-E-C-I—” she was interrupted by Sterling yanking her chair back hard enough that she nearly tipped over.

“Oops.” Sterling laughed and pushed her back upright. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to give it that much welly.”

“We-well-welly? Wha-what-whatever do you mean? Why don’t you speak English, girl?”

“I am. The Queen’s English in fact,” Sterling said brightly. “She’s a girl too, y’know.”

Lindsey just shook her head despondently. “Oh God. Please, no. Not this again.” She stood up and grabbed Sterling by the shoulders, staring straight at her. “Is this going to be like when you discovered the britcom channel and spent the next week and a half doing the most god-awful British accent? Is this a  _ relapse? _ ”

“R-E-L,” Sterling broke out in a wide grin before she could finish spelling the word.

“You brat. Don’t make me put you over my knee and spank you.”

“You wouldn’t!” Sterling said with an exaggerated gasp, eyes wide.

“Have done and will do again.”

“Wouldn’t be the same.”

“Damn straight it wouldn’t. This time around you wouldn’t enjoy it nearly as much.” Lindsey gave her backside a smack for good measure. “Why don’t you move your ass to the couch and pick something for us to watch while I prepare dessert.”

“Dessert?” Sterling’s face lit up.

“Nothing fancy. It’s just, ya know, it’s Friday night and I know you’ve had a long week.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“No, seriously. I L-O-V-E you.”

“You managed to spell a four-letter word correctly. Well done, you.”

Sterling stretched while the credits rolled on what must’ve been the longest movie ever. “If I ever suggest watching anything to do with epic fantasy again, you have my permission to slap me.”

Lindsey just laughed and took one last sip from her wine glass. “Hey, Sterling, what was that letter about?”

“You know, reunion stuff,” Sterling said with a dismissive shrug. 

“So what is it really about?”

“You know.”

“I do,” Lindsey nodded knowingly.

“So why do you ask?”

“Because you never mentioned it after the first letter. Like,  _ at all _ .” When Sterling remained quiet, she pushed on. “I know growing up in a conservative and deeply religious—”

“Biggotted. They were almost all bigots and racists or just plain hateful towards anyone that weren’t exactly like them.”

“Everything that was good about growing up there, I still have. My parents, Blair, Ellen. Bowser and Yolanda. I keep meaning to check in with them, but—”

“What about the rest of your classmates?”

“We weren’t that close.”

“So what do you have to lose? Visit your folks, get drunk with those friends of yours that remain. You’ve probably not met face-to-face for years. Does that really sound bad?”

Sterling curled up on the couch, saying nothing.

“Sterl. Talk to me. Would it actually bring about anything bad?”

“She might be there.”

“Who?” Lindsey was confused for a second before she realized what this was all about. “Oh, she-who-must-not-be-named.”

“Exactly.”

“The evil ex.”

“I don’t call her that anymore.”

“Sterling.”

“Not that often, at least.”

“So you went to school together. Huh. I figured that whole thing happened a lot closer to when we first got to know each other.”

“It did.” Sterling really didn’t want to get into this, but Lindsey already knew the highlights and she deserved the deep background. But first she had to make sure it wouldn’t ruin their relationship. “You know that I love you, right? You’re like my best friend.”

“I think Blair might slap you if she was here.”

“Bestest non-twin best friend.” Sterling stopped and seemed to give it a lot more thought than necessary. “Uh, that’s a lot of best in one very short sentence. Anyway. Best friend.”

“Are you sure you got it right this time?”

“In the whole world! Not just NYC!”

“Of course,” Lindsey chuckled. “And same. It’s not like I make a habit of cohabiting with ex-girlfriends. Or calling them my best friend. I’m down for the occasional hang-out, sure, but...”

“Good thing too, because this place is barely big enough for the two of us. We’d have to stack your exes floor-to-ceiling to fit them all in.” 

“Very droll.”

“Thank you. Imagining all the Amandas, Tashas, and Leahs like that made me laugh.”

“I don’t date  _ that  _ much,” Lindsey huffed.

“Maybe the Container Store has some stackable boxes fit for exes. Ex-boxes.”

“Okay, Sterl, not so cute any more, that’s… disturbing. That’s half-way to serial killer.” Lindsey reached out for Sterling. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s on your mind?”

Sterling sat back down and took Lindsey’s hand in her own. “What I started saying was, I love you. I  _ loved _ you. Was  _ in _ love with you. There was nothing fake about what we had.”

“Mmhmm.”

“But…”

“Yes?”

“It was different with her. It just was...” Sterling struggled to find the appropriate words. “More. It was just more. It was more of everything. More intense. More passionate. More joyous. More… heartbreaking.”

“Why is it that you’re telling me this now?”

“It’s not like I could tell my girlfriend-at-the-time that I’d had my heart broken, over and over, by the same girl since I was sixteen. That makes me sound like some kind of no self-esteem loser.”

“Sterling, no…”

“Or the kind of psycho-girlfriend that refuses to let go and ends up fracturing her tucchus after falling out of a tree because she was trying to spy on her ex.“

“Tucchus?”

“Yeah, I’ve been watching old SNL clips on YouTube. Who knew Mike Myers used to be funny? Huh.”

Lindsey laughed and gave Sterling a quick hug. “I hate to break it to you, honey, but you’re not special.”

“Did I not mention the no self-esteem loser part?” Sterling’s pout disappeared under Lindsey’s loving gaze.

“At least not when it comes to this. Sterling, we’ve all been there. To some degree or other. Everybody has someone they thought was their soulmate or some such nonsense. Usually their first love, because it’s amazing and new and precious and special. But it’s not. It’s just love.”

“You make that sound like such a mundane thing.”

“I did, and yet it’s not. My point is that every time you fall in love it’s all those things. And yes, sometimes  _ more _ .”

“I like, really, really, really loved her. Even after she broke my heart. Every time. Even when she tore it from my chest and threw it into a mulcher.”

“By the sound of things, you guys didn’t just fall back together. It was more like a head-on collision at maximum speed.” Lindsey looked closely at Sterling, searching for something. “Do you still have feelings for her?”

“Anger, resentment, hatred. Those are feelings.”

“Do you  _ love _ her?”

“How would I even know? At this point, everything about her is a huge, tangled mess.”

“When did you last see her?”

“It’s been three years, just like I told you. I wrote her that letter and haven’t heard a thing since. Not one peep. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy about it. We,” she sighed, “we weren’t good for each other. I don’t want that back.”

Lindsey rubbed her friend’s back. “Understandable. From what you’ve told me, you’ve been to hell and back together. But, what I want to know is, do you want  _ her _ to be there?”

“I-I don’t know.” Sterling took a deep breath and straightened her back. “No, it’s been three years and what happened then, that, that was the straw—”

“That broke the camel’s back?” Lindsey tittered. 

Sterling narrowed her eyes. “Are you comparing my boobs to a camel’s humps?”

Lindsey started singing:  _ Your humps, your humpas, your humps _

Sterlings shot her a withering glare.

_ Your lovely lady lumps _

Yeah, she was really thankful she had Lindsey in her life. Off-key singing notwithstanding. 


	2. A Friend Called George

April closed the lid on her stupidly thin laptop and marveled that things really hadn’t changed that much since she used to sit in front of a very similar laptop in her childhood bedroom, writing school papers that the teachers probably just skimmed through before rubber stamping them with the highest grade. 

The only thing that really had changed was that nowadays she wrote incisive reports that were skimmed by idiots before being filed away and forgotten. At least she hoped they were properly filed, because she intended to bring them all back out as proof that she’d been right all along one of these days, and if they’d been unceremoniously dumped in the trash…

It was just crazy-making that there still existed people who requested, nay required, a paper copy before they were willing to read anything. And not just pre-digital dinosaurs, though thankfully, they would soon be as extinct as actually dinosaurs, but people from her generation. She suspected it was just another way for them to exercise power, and she hated the pettiness required to act like that.

She was interrupted by a question being asked out of thin air.

“Hey, April, I heard you’re sitting in tomorrow. Is that right?”

She swiveled her chair to face the question asker, a satisfied smile on her face. “That’s accurate, yes. Somebody finally read one of my reports and realized they were being fools.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.” George returned the smile. “You know I read everything you put in front of me. And I don’t think I’m a fool.”

“You’re not, I didn—.” April started apologizing, but George cut her off.

“But the fools upstairs _did_ finally listen to me when I told them they should pay attention. It only took two years and god knows how many angry memos.”

“I think the current count is somewhere in the high 50s.”

George considered. “That would make for one every other week on average. Sounds about right.”

“What changed?”

“I think Jason finally realized the true cost of ignoring user dissatisfaction in this area. They were too focused on the cost of implementing one of your ideas instead of seeing how the business was bleeding users and losing revenue.”

“These techbro assholes can never see the forest for the trees,” April had tried to contain her distaste for far too long, but after three years she felt justified in calling them exactly what they were. And it was said to George, who she knew felt the same way.

“Apparently user retention has taken a nose-dive since the last algo change.”

“Told you, George. I told you long before it was put on live, but did they listen?”

“They will now. I’ve made sure of that, and I know you will make them understand.”

George was the only work-friend that April would even consider a friend, full stop. And it wasn’t just because they’d come up together, starting the same trainee program just under three years ago, when April had taken a leap of faith and changed the trajectory her life was on. 

It took well over a year before they made plans outside of the post-work hang out with co-workers that was always jovial and enjoyable, but also perfunctory and expected. At first it was just a friendship of convenience, somebody to talk to at the gym, and share a ride with. Then it became a source of fun and laughter, something close to companionship.

April remembered when she finally got back to Ezekiel and Hannah, after allowing that friendship to lay fallow for far too long following her unexpected move to San Francisco, and caught them up on everything they didn’t know, including George. 

They made plans to meet somewhere in the middle, and unlike so many plans of this nature, they did end up meeting in Chicago, during a scorching hot August week last year. Ezekiel complained about missing out on Taste of Chicago, wondering why they couldn’t have met just a few weeks earlier, but Hannah grumpily pointing out that not everybody had the luxury of making up their own schedule as they pleased shut him up. After that, it was like the Holy Trinity had never been apart.

Being back with her friends relaxed April in a way she hadn’t realized she needed so very badly. There was no pretense needed, no closely guarded secrets to be protected. She could be herself for a while, and she was so much more than the driven, career-focused perfectionist everybody at work saw her as. Everybody except George.

Once they became friend-friends that talked and shared, it didn’t take long before April felt the familiar itch that came with not telling the truth to the people that mattered, but she knew from bitter experience that pushing never ended well. So she waited.

George was almost as private and guarded as April, which made it so much more meaningful when they finally opened up, one evening in mid-July shortly before April rejoined the Trinity, and told their truths over cheap domestic beer and awful barbeque that did not live up to the billing of “Authentic Southern” anything. 

April had fallen back on the speech she knew by heart, one she’d perfected back when she didn’t think she’d ever get the chance to say it to another living human, much less a girl she crushed on. Back then, narwhals and tiny blue poison frogs was a mantra she repeated to herself, in private and never out loud, because you could never know who was listening.

George laughed at her overly rehearsed mannerism, and laughed even harder when April’s ears went bright pink, but April didn’t care then, because it was the first time in years that she felt like herself again, the better version she’d had glimpsed from time to time, but never been able to embrace. And she still didn’t care now, because George had proved a loyal friend, someone April could trust. 

Given their situation at work, you’d think friendship would be difficult, but even that was easy; George wasn’t exactly her boss, but as someone unwilling to play the game required to navigate office politics, April had found her career progression falling behind that of her friend, but for once, she didn’t mind, because George was smart, efficient and took decisions based on facts and numbers, not some perceived attached prestige or whatever else people used to justify bad decisions. 

“I have a date tomorrow,” George leaned in and whispered, conspiratorially. April checked the clock and rolled her eyes at her clearly excited friend.

“This couldn’t have waited another 30 minutes?”

“Nope. I just got a text with the details. I didn’t want to believe it until I had something concrete. This girl is so out of my league, I have no idea why she said yes.”

“Because you’re hot, funny and you have a very infectious energy, once you loosen the tie and put your hair down?” April suggested, knowing George knew all this already, but still needed to hear it from time to time.

"Yeah, but seriously..."

April's phone buzzed and when she looked down, she saw a message from George with an image attached, clearly a screenshot from whatever the dating app du jour was. April zoomed in and looked closer at the blonde in the picture. She was a mess, sitting on a bed, looking very comfy as she slurped noodles out of an instant ramen container, a pint of ice cream next to her on the bed. It looked like her wild hair, falling across her face, mingled with the noodles so that she was chewing her hair. April shook her head and wondered how the girl could just sit there, wearing next to nothing and not freeze her admittedly cute ass off with the ice cream resting against her long, shapely leg.

She shook her head again when she realized she was probably spending a bit too long obsessing over a girl her friend was going on a date with. "She's pretty, I agree."

"Yeah, but look at that picture. She had that as her featured photo. That's a girl who is comfortable in her skin. Screw physical attributes, that's what makes her hot. Here, let me show you."

Stopping her friend before her phone started filling up with pictures, April said, "George, I hope the date will be as great as you say this girl is, but you don't need to spam me." She smirked. "You can do that when you've met, made out like horny teens, and you feel the need to gush."

"I'm practically a teen. I can make out like me."

"You're older than I am!" April laughed.

"Only by a year, and age is nothing but a number anyway. You're only as old as you feel."

"Then I must be middle-age, because I feel like sitting you down and giving you the talk about the birds and the bees since you clearly intend to charm the pants off this girl."

"You really are old, because nobody uses that metaphor anymore."

"The perfect skin of a 20 year-old but the soul of a wizened old maid, that's me in a nutshell."

"Hush. You just need to find the right—" George looked around, nose wrinkling when Jason walked out of his office and started down the hallway heading towards them "—person. Find them and live a little."

"This is not a workplace discussion," April bit off, looking over at her approaching actual boss. "And not really a discussion worth revisiting any way."

“I disagree. But okay, not here, not now. Later, over drinks.”

April shook her head and laughed, waving off George’s ridiculous pleading looks.

“Okay, we’re no longer at work. It’s definitely later, and we will have drinks as soon as I can get that asshole’s attention.” George pointed at the bartender, still miles away and completely unaware of George and April trying to navigate through the throng of people blocking the way between them and some well-earned refreshments.

“I have no idea what you’re getting at.”

“Just look around, there’s no shortage of hot girls here. And some that might not fit the traditional definition of hot, if that’s your thing.”

“My thing—”

“Yeah, c’mon, tell me already. You trusted me enough to tell me you’re a lesbian, and that was yonks ago, whatever could be worse than _that_?” George laughed and flashed April a knowing grin. “Unburdening the soul feels good.”

“That much I know,” April said. “I’m just not up for a relationship right now, even though—”

“Though?”

“Seeing you like this does make it seem appealing again. Your hair is definitely down.”

George loosened the tie with an exaggerated wiggle and dangled it suggestively in front of April before tossing it aside. “And there goes the tie. Never a better time for fun. Except maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow is going to be _so_ good.”

“Agreed. You’ll sweep her off her feet.”

“But… again? You said again,” George pointed out, refusing to drop it. “You haven’t been on a date in the three years I’ve known you. There is history there, I know it.”

“We all have history.” April tried to play it off, trying to make it seem like nothing special. “Growing up where I did made it inevitable that it wasn’t always the happiest.”

“So, what was her name?”

“All history, George. The past. Better left there.”

“One of these days I’m going to get the full story. Every dirty little detail.”

“I doubt that. There’s not much to tell.”

“Whenever somebody has told me that, it turns out there was a hell of a lot to tell in the end.”

Unlocking the door to her studio walk-up, April dearly regretted letting George order that last round. She would say she regretted going at all, but thankfully her friend quickly forgot about April’s lack of dates once the topic of the adorable blonde was breached; and though April’s phone remained mostly free of incriminating photos of the girl, George had been physically unable to stop gushing, telling April to can it when it was pointed out that so far all their relationship consisted of was a couple of dozens of flirty messages and a few suggestive selfies of the type that were verboten to put on your public profile.

Bridgette—”Bridge or Bri, but if we hit it off, I won’t mind it if you call me bb”—really did seem to live up to every last one of George’s claims. There was a certain chaotic energy there that didn’t hold much appeal for April, but Bri seemed sweet and genuine, as far as it was possible to tell from some carefully selected texts that George had shared while they waited in line for the bathroom at The Café.

The good vibes and happiness was infectious and April got caught up in it, staying later than she intended and drinking more than was advisable, but it was worth it when her smitten friend was their brightest self in a way that lifted the spirits of everybody around them. Even when it threatened to remind April that she definitely didn’t feel the same way these days, hadn’t in a while, she refused to sulk when love—or at least lust—was in the air. She wasn’t a grinch yet, nor an old maid.

Once the night had gotten dark enough and enough drinks had been consumed to lower inhibitions, George admitted they really wanted to take Bri’s belly button piercing between their teeth and give it a tug and she nearly ended up spitting out her Whiskey Sour. When they followed it up by not-so-innocently pondering what else Bri could possibly have pierced, April did finally choke on her drink, laughing so hard she forgot to feel sad that she was going back home to an empty apartment and her cat.

Yeah, she was really thankful she had George in her life. Even if that couldn’t make up for the lack of Sterling Pearl Wesley. Nothing ever would.


End file.
